


Not What You Want/Exactly What You Need

by DragonsInkwell (Lafrenze)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Light Angst, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafrenze/pseuds/DragonsInkwell
Summary: You never thought you'd be in desperate enough straits to cut a deal like this, but life makes fools of us all it seems.





	Not What You Want/Exactly What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> I have very little clue where this idea came from, besides a song from a new album I bought recently, but it has haunted me and cursed my muse until it could be written. It's waaaay too long to count for my practice/request booklet, so it's getting posted as it's own thing. Will there be more? No idea, mostly because I don't even know if anyone would want more. If you do, let me know and I might kick this idea around a bit and see where it takes me. If not, I hope you can at least enjoy this for what it is~

While not exactly what you could properly call 'scummy', the area of town you find yourself in has certainly seen better days. You're not sure when those days might have been, but they are a distant memory now. There is none of the landscaping used by the city council to beautify the scenery, buildings instead packed tightly together and all the same drab grays and browns, and the air carries a staleness that speaks volumes about when the wind last was strong enough to make its way this deep. Even now, during the afternoon when it should be easy to see, the urban crowding keeps a heavy cloak of shade draped over everything. More than that, it blocks out any outside noise, and the utter lack of activity here means an oppressive silence blankets you, broken only by your quiet footsteps.

The fact that you haven't seen another person since you've arrived sets your already strained nerves on edge, and for what must be the hundredth time these last few minutes you skittishly check your phone. The mapping app confirms once again this is exactly where you are supposed to be, and you swallow around the lump of fear in your throat as you continue through the complex. As a visitor, you're not sure if it's always this devoid of life at this time of day, but you can't help but feel like an unwelcome intruder. That thought alone reminds you that you can turn tail and leave, go home and back to the way things are, but you have business here and you intend to see it through.

You follow the directions written out on the phone for several more painfully long minutes, winding between buildings with seemingly no purpose. Right as your courage starts to wane you reach what you've been looking for. It's equally as nondescript as its neighboring buildings, but the number painted on the side in a scuffed and cracking white paint matches the one you need to be at. You have to stop and take a deep breath, then turn your phone off and slip it into your pocket, trying your best to psych yourself up.

This is for the best, you tell yourself. It's like any other errand. You don't have to agree to anything you don't feel comfortable with. But you need to check. You can't live like this much longer. With a trembling hand you pull the door open and step inside, not giving yourself any more time to overthink your decision. You've come this far. You can follow through.

The inside is every bit as drab as the outside, gray matte laminate floor tiles contrasting the off-white paint, with the only real color being the probably fake plants in large pots that sit in the corners of the room. A fairly small desk sits against the north wall, covered in business card holders and pamphlets. Next to it, hanging on the wall is a map of the building proper, and a directory listing what offices can be found where. You approach the directory, unsure of where to go from here. According to it, you must descend to the basement floor and head to the middle of the left-most hallway. Simple enough.

Thankfully, the elevator is close, in a little nook right around the corner, and you don't even have to wait for it to arrive as it opens right after you press the call button. Before you step in, you're taken once again by a wave of hesitation and have to force your feet to carry you forward, clenching your jaw in resignation. You've come this far. With a deep breath to calm yourself, you hit the button labeled with a 'B' in cracking paint, and allow yourself to be taken to your destination.

The basement is even more depressing than the ground floor. It's 'decorated' much the same way, but the lack of windows and natural light makes the florescent lighting obnoxious. You step out of the small cutout the elevator sits in and start to pick your way through the halls. Every so often there's a door on either side of you, each the same as the last: a wood door painted the same shade of gray as the tiles with a frosted glass pane at the top. The only way to tell what lay behind each one was the sign screwed into the wall next to it, with the name of the business and the suite number.

Since you took the time to actually check for directions, you find the office you're looking for with relative ease. Amamiya's Life Solutions, Suite 037. You aren't sure the name is fitting, what with the rumors you've heard, but you suppose the owner couldn't exactly phrase it any differently without rousing suspicion. Whatever the intent behind it was, and whatever business they choose to do, you hope they can help you. You're not sure what else you can try, if this falls through.

You steel yourself, spine straightening as you stand up tall and gather your courage, and carefully open the door and step inside, preparing yourself for what may lay behind it.

It's far cozier than anything you expected, actually. The tile gave way to a rich hardwood floor and the paint here is a warm tan. Unlike the barren walls outside, these are decorated with a couple of tasteful paintings (a fact you note with some wonder, as closer inspection reveals they are indeed paintings and not simple prints), and a small, hanging planter overflowing with ivy. A handful of plush chairs upholstered in a red suede sit on one side, opposite a false wall with an intake window, but where you expect to see a receptionist you're met with just an empty space. In the window sits a small bell, a clipboard and pen, and a standing sign that reads 'Please sign in and ring the bell. I will call you in at the first opportunity. Thank you for your patience. Walk-ins welcome.'. Beside the window, a few feet over, is another door, one that looks made of solid wood, but you don't doubt that would be too heavy and so you assume it only looks that way.

You aren't very certain what you actually thought this place would look like, but it's all so... soft. While it's definitely for the purpose of calming clients and making them feel relaxed and at ease, the dissonance only keeps you on your toes though you cannot settle on why this is. Regardless, you do as the sign asks, walking over to the little bay and signing your name on the sheet of paper on the clipboard. There are several more names above yours, but they've been crossed out and are illegible. For privacy, if you have to guess. With that done, you obey the second part of the instructions and give the bell a tap, letting the chime echo through the small room, before taking a seat to wait.

You don't expect to be called any time soon, you have no idea if the owner is with another 'client' or not, so you slip your phone back out to fiddle with a game to keep your mind off of your jumbled thoughts and racing heart. You ought to leave, screams a sliver of your mind, leave and find a different solution to your problem because this is begging for trouble. It's for naught; you drown out the fear by reminding yourself exactly why you're here. There are no other answers, if there had been, you would have found them by now.

Focused on your phone deeply enough to ignore your own misgivings, you fail to notice the person who walks out to check the sign-in sheet. Only when you hear your name called does your concentration break, and you jump to attention, phone fumbling out of your grasp. You chase after it with an embarrassed yelp. As you rise back to your feet, phone back in hand, you pretend to not notice the muffled chuckle that you can hear, even as you feel your ears burn. Clearing your throat, you tuck your phone away and take a look at the young man behind the window.

He's young, couldn't possibly be anywhere past his late twenties. At first glance the young man is plain, entirely unremarkable with his frizzy black hair and dark eyes watching from behind a simple set of glasses, in a clean-cut suit with no frills or fuss. You couldn't pick him out in a room with two other men. As you really take in his appearance, however, you're taken off-guard by how striking he is. You honestly have no idea what causes it, not at first, but then you realize it's all in the way he's observing you. Though his face is lit up with mirth, there's a sharpness to his gaze and lacing the edge of his smile, as though he can see right through your skin and flesh and down to your very soul.

You fidget in place, no longer sure what to do with your hands, unsure of how you should even stand, if you should say something and what might be appropriate. To your relief, the young man regains his own composure and takes the lead, introducing himself. “Welcome to my humble office. I'm Ren Amamiya, owner and operator. Are you here for a consultation, or would you like to schedule an appointment?”

Nervously you pick at your nails and lick your lips. “I'd like a consultation today, please, if one is available.”

“Of course!” he chimes. “It's been quite slow today, so you'd be doing me a favor. Please, come on back and we'll discuss the details.”

He punctuates his words with a sweeping gesture at the door that leads behind the false wall, flashing you an encouraging smile that you attempt to return politely with mixed results. So far there has been nothing out of the ordinary, and yet you can find no assurance in that fact. All the same, you do as Ren requests and make your way to the door. To your surprise, what you assumed was just a plywood door covered in veneer seems to be exactly the opposite, it's far too heavy to be anything but solid wood and it baffles you.

Well, it baffles you until you see the office space proper, and it starts to make more sense. Not complete sense, there is no denying it's still a very odd choice for the location, but where the waiting room was a stark contrast to the hallway, this too is another sharp transition. It fits the same aesthetic, warm tones, but the hardwood floor is replaced by a soft, deep red carpet. The paint is the same tan, but there's far less of it as the lowest half of the wall is covered in an elegant wood paneling. On the wall to your right is another door, which you guess leads to the receptionist's area. To your left is a couple of filing cabinets and a shelf full of odds and ends, various trinkets arranged in no discernible order. And directly in front of you is a desk, antique and like so much else in here made of wood, with a large, well padded chair on either side. Behind the desk is a built-in bookcase, stuffed full, and it reminds you in a vaguely unpleasant way of a lawyer's office.

Right as you step further in to the room and let the door close behind you, Ren enters from the other door, confirming your guess as to where it leads. He's still smiling kindly, but you don't fail to detect the keen edge in his expression and body language. “Don't be shy; take a seat. I don't bite.” Though his tone is soft and intended to be soothing, there's a hint of teeth as his grin widens a fraction and the joke misses its mark, leaving an awkward tension as you both head for your respective chairs.

“Come now, I mean it. Relax. You're simply here to talk, aren't you? And I'm here to offer help, yes?” Ren murmurs, sinking comfortably into his chair, posture unwound and surprisingly casual.

He has a point, you have to admit. It's a little silly to be this wound up; you chose to come here after all. But you can't shake the impression it was a bad choice, that the smartest course of action is to leave. All the same, you try your damnedest to calm down at least a little. It takes a couple deep breaths before you can speak around the lump in your throat, but you manage. “Ah, I'm... um, I'm sorry.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ren replies, “It's alright. This is your first time, isn't it? Not sure what you've heard, but I run a reputable business here. My means might not be... conventional, let's say, but I assure you, your satisfaction with any agreement we reach is important to me.” The candidness with which he speaks does wonders for your nerves, easing part of your troubled mind, and as you finally relax into your seat with a sigh of relief he nods, clearly pleased with your upturn in mood.

“See! There we go, now we can talk problem solving,” he says, shifting to lean forward onto his elbows, watching you eagerly. “So, what are you having trouble with? Money problems? Got a tyrant for a boss, or just looking for a real promotion? Maybe you're looking for The One, hm? Whatever you're looking to make happen, I can guarantee results. Not a word of what we discuss in this room will leave it, so please feel comfortable in telling me what I can help you with today.”

Eager indeed. Perhaps even too eager to help, you muse as you feel the tension creeping back into your shoulders. You hadn't been sure about what kind of clientele would frequent this sort of establishment before you arrived, but based on Ren's opening assumptions you have a much more vivid picture. Except, you have no frivolous delusions about the real source of your burdens. Money and power might be able to solve your issue in large enough quantities, certainly, but there is a far more direct way to address your need.

“Ah, well, no. None of those,” you say quietly, back to playing with your nails to keep your hands busy. While you can mentally acknowledge your possible solution, and you've spent countless sleepless nights mulling over this very decision, speaking it aloud feels like a crime all its own, and you struggle to find the willpower to admit your desired outcome. But you've come this far, you repeat, and it's enough to help you drag the words out. “I want to help my father.”

This admission clearly surprises Ren. He sits up straight with a thoughtful look, dropping all the overbearing charm he'd started to lay on as quickly as he put it on. After a moment's time to process, he probes for more information. “Your father, huh? Is he ill? Gotten himself into a bit of a sticky situation?”

You shake your head. “N-no. Well... It's not his fault. It's, um...” you stutter uselessly. Your self-consciousness causes you to turn your head, looking anywhere but directly at the young man sitting across from you, as if it might hide your shame from his prying gaze. “My mother has been terrible to him, since they day they met. I want to make her stop.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach like an icy knife. Despite the misery her existence has caused you, and continues to cause you, saying as much out loud is a much harder task than you ever could have anticipated. When you say that she is the bane of your existence you aren't joking in the least, and yet, you still hesitate when presented the option to defy her. Even now, with years of freedom distancing you from her claws.

Distracted as you are, you cannot notice the way all Ren's playful attitude fades, replaced with a pensive calm. But it's clear in his voice when he speaks again, the teasing edge of laughter no longer lacing his speech. “I see. That's well within my ability,” he says, and the lack of any form of judgment in his tone is in complete contrast to your expectations. “Before I ask about what you have in mind for that, because it looks like you have some idea what you'd like to see happen, I want more details as to her behavior, if you please.”

“Sh-she, she's always just...” You choke on your own words as tears start to obscure your vision. Anger and pain quickly take root as you drag the memories to the surface of your mind in an attempt to explain the situation. You've never told a soul about the depths of your suffering, and left fewer hints at what your father has endured for your sake, and you are left with no idea where to start.

Surprisingly, instead of snapping at you the way you've learned to expect from people when you show such glaring weakness, Ren offers a soothing hush. “I'm not asking to upset you,” he explains gently, “but even if I can count them on one hand, I have standards, understand? If I took every request for revenge at face value, I would inevitably hurt people who haven't earned it. I obviously have to make a living from it, but despite what others may think, I prefer to solve problems, not create them for the innocent-enough.”

Several long moments pass as he waits patiently for you to compose yourself. You can't argue with his reasoning, and beyond that, you ought to be able to own your decision. No one is making you do this against your will, but depraved as it might be, you want this. And you have to own up to it. With a steady breath you sit up straight, wiping the tears from your eyes. You still can't meet Ren's piercing gaze, but you've found your voice at long last.

“As far as I know, she's always wanted to control him, to own him like a pet. It's the only reason she had me, to make my father marry her. And it worked. She's violent and cruel; to this day she still hits him. She used to hit me too, or threaten to, to get him to do what she told him.” Thinking and speaking about it has your feelings welling up to the surface again, but you tamp them down and press forward. There will be time for more tears later. “And he can't even leave. She tried to keep me from moving out, after I graduated, but since I managed to leave, she's only gotten worse. But she tells him that if he tries, she'll go to the police and have him arrested. Even if I testified on his behalf, I don't think they'd believe the truth. I tried to tell them once myself, as a kid, that my mother hit my dad and I almost got him in trouble. I don't know where else to turn for help, but he always did his best to protect me, to keep me safe, and I want to do the same for him.”

Ren lets out a thoughtful hum, mulling over the information you provided him, and you finally manage to look back up at him, trying to judge if he'll accept your request or not. If nothing else, he doesn't look disgusted or appalled, the way you feared he might, and he's not mocking you in disbelief, so it's a start. His expression shifts suddenly, and Ren slides open a drawer and pulls out a phone of his own.

“I think I'd be quite willing to take on your case. May I get your mother's name, please?” Without hesitation you provide it and watch as he enters it into his phone. You can't tell exactly what he's doing, if he's simply noting it for later or searching for more information, but when he finishes, Ren sets the phone down on the desk, face down, with a sharp grin. In a single movement, he slips his glasses off, placing them next to his phone, revealing a luminous crimson has taken over his dark irises. In an echo of his earlier earnestness, leans forward with a dangerously casual air. “Quite willing, in fact. Now, you look like someone who knows exactly what you want to ask for, so what did you have in mind for Mother Dearest?”

His excitement throws you for a loop. More than willing, he looks downright pleased to enact whatever vengeance you could ask for. Ren comes off as an entirely different person, so different is his attitude. Gone is the mild young man he appears to be, and the charming salesman he played at earlier, replaced wholly by an eager predator, ready to go in for the kill. This is what you expected to see when you arrived, knowing full well what type of creature could run a business like this. Bargain-brokering of this kind is beyond of the power of humans, after all.

As for his question, you know very well what you want to see happen. Many a long night's comfort was dreaming of seeing your mother get her comeuppance. “I... I want her away from my father. And I want her to suffer, for everything she's done,” you confess in a quiet voice. Despite your vivid fantasies and vicious bitterness, speaking your desires is a foreign concept to you. “I want her to be miserable and helpless and alone for the rest of her life.”

“Oh? How vicious~” he purrs, clearly entertained by your suggestion. Ren sits up, and though he does not look away from you, he puts a finger to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “So you're the kind who sees death as a mercy, is that it? Or are you just that eager to watch it play out? No matter, either way it's a simple request, to take your mother away and see that she's treated appropriately. We can hash out the details when we get to the contract negotiations, should you choose to come back after today's consultation. Acceptable?”

“Yes.” That's right, you realize, you haven't yet committed to anything. There's still time to think if you really want to go through with this. Even through the rage and hurt, you feel a heavy burden of guilt asking for this, but no one else will listen. Nobody wanted to help you or your father, and you fear you're running out of time to intervene, and still you want to hesitate. Can you really sentence your mother to a living hell?

“Good, good. Now, onto the drudgery,” Ren states, shifting in his chair to rest his forearms on the desk between you, hand loosely clasped together. “You are aware, I'm sure, that this will come at a price, correct?”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and give a solemn nod. Nothing gets done for free, and you've thought long and hard about what you're willing to pay. You've heard stories of the experiences of others entering into such deals and taken into consideration the costs they have paid. You can't say you know for sure the 'value' of the help you would receive, but you think you have a good idea of what would be too much. Not enough to offer up an opening bid though if it comes to haggling you might be able to keep up. “I am, yes.”

Ren's ever-present smile broadens proudly. “For a first-timer, you've come prepared, haven't you? I like that, makes my job easy. In fact, I'd like to cut you a special deal. Her life for yours. A clean, even trade.”

For a long beat of silence you sit completely stunned. Did he really mean...?

“No.” You speak without having to think about it at all once you regain your bearings. There are many things you would do for justice, but dying is not one of them. You can't even make sure Ren follows through on his end of the bargain if you accept that.

“No?” he repeats, fixing you with a curious stare.

“My death isn't an option, and I specifically asked that she doesn't either, not anytime soon.”

At your clarifying remark, he breaks into a quick fit of laughter. “You misunderstand me,” he chokes out between gasping cackles. Breathing heavily, he has to take a second to reign himself in before continuing. “I have no intention of killing you. What I meant, and perhaps it's my fault for being so coy, is that in exchange for granting you de-facto control over Mother Dearest's new life of suffering, I will get control of yours. One life,” he punctuates by pointing at his phone before pointing at you, making sure to make eye contact as he does, “for another.”

Your heart catches in your throat, and you struggle to breathe around it. That... That is an entirely unexpected price, even as it starts to make a modicum of sense the longer you puzzle over it. But still, to give yourself up in whole? And you, likely, have so much life ahead of you, it will be a long term payment indeed. You want to haggle, to offer something else, but the more you think the more you realize it's a horrifically fair trade. Two lives in exchange. “A-and what would that look like? Will the lives be equal in length?”

“They could be equal, if you'd prefer. Actually, that is a good idea, isn't it? I hadn't thought of that, how fitting, and it would be much more equitable, wouldn't it be? She'd live a life just shy the length of yours, though the details are mine to keep secret there, unless you'd be interested in purchasing that, too.” Ren's easy-going attitude about this whole affair begins to unnerve you once again. True, you're a guilty party here also, but he treats the sale of lives like most would treat buying a carton of eggs. “As for your part, that's where your special discount would come in. I'm not big on keeping 'pets', not unwilling ones at least, so you'd mostly be allowed to do whatever you want. However, as you might have noticed, I'm a little short on staff, and I could always use some help with collections. Slave labor is also not something I particularly enjoy, so you can expect to be paid for your time. You'll have some leeway on days off, if you need them, but again, we can save the details for another day. Suffice to say, I will have the ability to change my mind at any time for the duration of your service, but if my word alone carries any weight, I assure you that I have no intent of abusing my power. As I mentioned, you've impressed me, and while I cannot aid you for free, I mean it when I say I want to make this as affordable as I am able.”

You're not entirely sure you should be comforted by his explanation. Regardless of what Ren says, it's still very close to voluntary slavery, no matter how well you get treated, and as he was quick to point out that he would be fully able to renege on that suggestion of kindness at will. But a thought crosses your mind, your mother will have no say in her fate and in all fairness do you really deserve anything better? No matter what she's done to anyone, this is a power you are not meant to have over her, over anyone, and it's logical the price would be just as steep. Could anything be worse than the life you're stuck with, however? Watching your beloved father die a slow death, wasting away at the hands of a woman he's never loved? Watching from the sidelines as he is bullied and abused until he meets a certainly ignoble end? Knowing that no matter who you tell, no matter what evidence you can scrounge up, all the system is stacked against you and you'll just be laughed at? What a small price to pay, giving your life up for the only person who has given his for you.

A deep silence blankets the tiny office as you mull over your decision. You want better for your father, a life where he can be free and happy, but you can't treat this lightly. You have to mean it, whatever choice you make, you will have to live with it for the rest of your days. It's not until you spot Ren's hand reaching out over the desk, offering you a tissue, that you notice you've started to weep again.

“Odd as it might seem, coming from one like me, feel no obligation to agree. Remember, today you have only asked for a consultation, and if you so choose, you may leave here freely. As per our verbal agreement, what has been discussed here will remain here, and you can go about your life as if you never visited me.”

You sniffle pitifully as you accept the tissue, doing your best to wipe away the tears. “You're a lot more casual about this than I expected,” you mutter in an attempt to change the subject long enough to reach a decision.

“There's nothing to be gained pushing people into contracts they aren't prepared for. It's easy profits, sure, but a good reputation makes business so much less trouble. I would rather be respected. Plus,” his tone becomes sharp here, lilting with amusement, “the hasty make fools of themselves, without my intervention. Plenty of people are willing to throw themselves away for trivial gains, enough that I can afford to leave the hustling to the greedy. Enough that I can be charitable when the mood strikes, too.”

Part of you desperately wants to believe him, even knowing what he is, but doubt lingers in your heart. It's too good to be true, it has to be. And yet, Ren makes himself out to be very trustworthy, not to mention how badly you want a solution. You stare down at your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. You could probably sit here all day, flipping between your options uselessly if you let yourself. It's as you picture yourself walking back home, knowing nothing will change, your heart sinks sadly. You've come so far, both physically and mentally, from the terrified child you were to the grown adult here, trying your best to make things right.

“I'll do it,” you croak around the despair that has started to choke you. When Ren replies with a questioning hum, you clear your throat and clarify. “I'll make the trade.”

“Are you certain?” he asks gently. Even without looking up at him you can feel his probing gaze and you nod your assent. “You still have time to sleep on it. Nothing is set in stone until you sign the contract, and that will wait until your next visit. I'll schedule you an appointment a week or so out, to save you some buyer's remorse. It may not be a binding agreement but, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

Finally you look up, feeling a strange sense of confidence surge through you. Scared and uncertain as you are, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. You still don't know if this is the right thing to do, or if you even have the strength to go through with it, but it is so much better than doing nothing at all. Ren's hand is outstretched over the desk, and as he watches you with a keen interest and playful smirk you reach out yourself to shake his hand.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like this and want more? Wanna scream at me? Check out my writing blog: [Dragon's Inkwell](http://www.dragonsinkwell.tumblr.com).


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